


better to burn than disappear

by iamnotalizard



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 3 plus 1 format, Character Study, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:15:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23288389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnotalizard/pseuds/iamnotalizard
Summary: the downfall of tim as seen by four people
Relationships: Tim Stoker/Original Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	better to burn than disappear

**Author's Note:**

> i miss tim so fucking much @ jonny sims i will find ur home address and i will squeeze lemon juice into ur eyes as u sleep 
> 
> title is a butchered quote from albert camus' novel "The Stranger"  
> also yes im always thinking about tim and the life he left behind im always crying whats up

** +3 **

It was easy to bend the rules for Tim Stoker. There was just something about the way he held himself; the confidence, the charisma, the way he seemed so comfortable in every situation. Ilya knew the first time he saw Tim that he was up to no good, walking into the police station like he knew the place, leaning over the counter just a  _ little too much  _ to be an average citizen. 

Of course, he refused Tim’s requests for any files and his advances. At first. But somehow Tim managed to get the subject away from work - away from the mutilated body that was being investigated - and managed to get chatting with Ilya about, well, anything. The flirting was obvious, and despite his hesitancy, Ilya felt himself blushing, giggling like a highschooler, warming up to Tim’s clear attempts to let down his guard.

He found that he didn’t mind. 

“Ilya… that’s Russian, right?” Tim asked, running a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah.” Ilya nodded.

“Hmm. How do you feel about Russian food?”

“I can’t stand it,” Ilya laughed a bit when he saw Tim falter slightly. “Restaurants never get it right and I’m not a good enough cook to do much better.”

Tim nodded sagely, “Yeah, that makes sense. Well, how do you feel about, hm, let’s see… Greek?”

Ilya smiled. “Yeah, I like Greek.”

“How about I take you out for some? Say, Friday evening?” And Ilya knows that he should have said no. But Tim seemed so  _ nice _ , so interested, and  _ so, so, so  _ attractive. 

“Yeah… Yeah, I can do Friday.”

“Great, it’s a  _ date _ ,” Tim said with a smirk.

And yeah, maybe it was wrong to do since he knew why Tim was taking him out - he definitely would have gotten a reprimand, especially after finding out he worked for the Magnus Institute - but. Ilya liked the attention that Tim gave him. He liked the way that Tim would lean forward to listen as Ilya talked, the way that Tim would rest his hand on top of his, thumb rubbing small circles. 

Ilya especially liked how Tim fucked him; left him gasping and gagging and crying for more. And afterwards, Tim would kiss him on the forehead before asking if he wanted to spend the night. Ilya almost always accepted, and Tim always seemed genuinely happy about it. 

And yeah, maybe Tim didn’t get the case file for that weird body that was found, but he certainly got the next one that he asked for. It wasn’t love, hell, it wasn’t even close to a relationship, but Ilya was happy to photocopy evidence and statements on the sly if it meant that Tim could leave work early to take him out to dinner, or a movie, or cafe, before taking him to bed. 

Eventually, Tim stops asking him for files or leads. Ilya asks him about it once, when he and Tim are sitting in some overpriced, hipster cafe.

Tim seemed to mull something over in his head for a few seconds. He looked tired, stressed. “I guess the best way to describe it is, me and some other assistants are on strike right now? We’re kinda not doing any work until…. We get a better contract, I guess.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Ilya smiles, “I hope it gets worked out soon.”

“Yeah, I hope so too.”

And then they go back to Tim’s place. And then it’s three more months of Tim texting him at odd hours, never asking for Ilya to bring anything, until one morning Tim says, “I’m going to have to stop seeing you.”

“Oh, okay,” Illya says, pulling his jeans back on. “Can I ask why?”

“You can ask, but I can’t tell you.”

“I’m not helping you cheat on anyone, am I?” Ilya asked, only partially joking. Tim shakes his head. 

“It’s complicated. Personal.”

Ilya paused for a few seconds, looking at Tim - very different from the Tim he first met. This one is covered in strange scars, constantly tired, more snappish. He jokes around less, and if Ilya were to be honest, he would have probably broken this arrangement off soon anyways. 

“Okay,” Ilya said softly, before walking over to Tim. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to his pock-marked forehead. “It was fun while it lasted.”

“Yeah,” Tim seemed almost remorseful. “I was.”

And then, Ilya doesn’t see or hear from Tim again, until he hears about a weird wax museum that burns to the ground, and in the mix of rumble, wax, and broken plastic, they find the body of one Timothy Stoker. There’s not really anyone he can talk to about it - not his ex-coworkers or ex-boss, certainly not his new boyfriend - so Ilya resides himself to a quick sniffle session in the shower and tries to think of the funny, flirty guy who convinced him to break the law, not the irritated man who he left with a kiss on the forehead. 

It only kind of works. 

** +2 **

If there’s one thing that Christina ( _ Not  _ Christy,  _ Not  _ Chris, certainly never Tina) knows about herself, it’s that she’s difficult to get along with. All straight-faced and dry-to-nonexistent humour, clinical in almost everything she does, unsympathetic but never quite mean. Doesn’t matter to her much, her friends seem to like her enough, her roommates don’t complain, and the fact that she never seems to react outwardly to stress means that her superiors look favourably on her when there’s an opening for promotions. Not that there’s a whole lot of lateral movement in a registry’s office, but still. 

Which is why she’s almost surprised at herself when she doesn’t recoil at Tim Stoker’s flirting attempts. She doesn’t flirt back - heaven’s no - but she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t tell him to sort out his tone, or to step back. 

“I’m not supposed to give out that kind of information unless you have all the paperwork in order.” As always, Christina’s voice comes out flat and dry as a desert. But instead of finding her rude, Tim picks up what she’s  _ really  _ trying to say.

“Oh, not  _ supposed  _ to?” He gives a wink. “Does that mean that you’re making an exception?”

And Christina is surprised when she realizes that she  _ is.  _ Her superiors trust her enough that they’ll never check over her work. Her coworkers pay her no mind and there’s not exactly a queue of patrons waiting for marriage, divorce and death certificates. She briefly wonders if Tim planned this, but pushes the thought away. 

“I might be,” Christina replies. “It’s something I’m considering.”

“Oh, and how might I tip the scales in my favour?”

And that’s how Christina ends up laying on the backseat of her car while taking a ‘cigarette break’ (she doesn’t even smoke), biting her knuckles to muffle her groans as he gropes and fingers  _ just right _ . She tells him not to mess up her makeup, and he laughs a little but listens, steadfastly not kissing her on the lips.

Christina always considered herself to be a very straightforward person; if she wanted to go on a date with someone, she asked them out, if she wanted to hook up with someone, she would tell them, but even so, she never jumped into bed with anyone as quickly as she did with Tim.

No matter, she thought as she readjusted her blouse and checked her makeup (which Tim had dutifully not smudged) in her rearview mirror, she got what she didn’t know she needed and Tim gets his documents. 

Christina also gives him her phone number, scribbled on a sticky note that she tucks into the file folder, making sure that he sees her do it. He grins, and says, “ _ Thank you,  _ Christina” in a way that makes every other thanks that she has ever received seem to fall flat. 

He doesn’t text her often, and she doesn’t text him. But when they do meet up, it’s very much how she likes it - straightforward, unemotional, clean. Once, he presses his lips against hers, before pulling back and saying, “Was that okay?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Christina replies. Tim nods and listens, doesn’t argue, doesn’t question her, just listens to what she says. For a moment, Christina almost likes him as something more than a job hazard and stress relief. 

She’s almost sad when she reads the daily obituaries - a morbid habit she’s gotten into to prepare herself for customers - and sees his name. Timothy Stoker, survived by his two parents, went off to join his little brother in heaven. 

She lets a puff of air exit her nose and mutters, “Typical.”

She just starting to like him again.

** +1 **

Dominique never really expected much to come out from their fling with Tim. He was nice, caring, gentle, willing to wait until Dominique was willing to go further before trying anything physical, but they’re interests, goals, hell, even their sleep schedules were so different, it was clear nothing serious would come out of it. When they first met Tim was still working as a publisher, and Dominique was finally getting some job security at their job at an online security management firm. Still, every few months, one of them would receive a text or a phone call and if nothing was standing in the way, neither of them saw anything wrong with meeting up every now and then. 

When Tim left the publishing house and started to work at the Institute, Dominique started receiving texts more often. Both Tim and Dominique knew where they would end up, but Dominique always found the precursors interest - the rituals that they followed, the hungry glances, the touches that slowly became more heated as the night wore on. It felt like playing with your food, the way that they would both pretend that this wasn’t going to end up any differently. 

Afterwards is always the same too. Dominique makes coffee or tea in their underwear, they both drink a cup and then Dominique gets dressed and goes home - regardless of the time of night.

It’s only after Tim starts working at the Institute that he also starts asking for their help while they drink from their steaming mugs. And really, Dominique has never cared much for the ethics and morals of privacy in the internet age, cybersecurity really is just a job to them, plus they trust Tim to not ask for things unless it’s for a good reason, so it doesn’t take much convincing. 

After the first couple of times, Dominique does say, “You know, if you need help with this, you can just ask me outright. I don’t need to be wined and dined to help you.”

At that, Tim smiled flirtatiously. “But  _ my way  _ is much more fun.”

Admitably, Tim isn’t wrong. Though after that conversation, he does start texting them for help in the middle of the day, no longer waiting until after they meet up to request, and now ending every “thank you” with an “i’ll make it up to you ;)”.

Eventually, Dominique does get a new partner, so they have to send the ever so awkward, ‘ _ hey it was fun but i’m dating someone now, we can still be friends and i can still help you but yeah’ _ . As expected, Tim is amicable about it, and after a few weeks does text Dominique again asking for information.

As the months went by, Tim texted less and less, until one day Dominque realized that it had been almost eight months since they’ve heard anything from him. They shrugged it off for a while; maybe he found someone who was more susceptible to his  _ fun  _ way of getting information, or maybe Tim got a different job - he always was talking about how weird and creepy his bosses were, how sometimes he would look up at the cluttered, dusty shelves in the Archives and get the sudden feeling that he was trapped, drowning in statements and traumatic encounters, just one more story for the archives to devour - or maybe. Maybe. Maybe something else.

Eventually, Dominique decided to send him a text themselves. Just a simple, “Hey, what you’ve been up to?”

The response is an automated “the number you have tried to reach is no longer in service.” Dominique knew that there was no reason to assume the worst, people change phones all the time. There was certainly a reasonable, non-heartbreaking explanation for Tim’s sudden radio silence.

Dominique doesn’t bother asking around to see if anyone knew where Tim went. They already know that something happened, and they can’t bring themselves to want to look deeper.    
  


+0

Rosie is never quite sure what’s happening with the Archives. She assumes there’s some secondary project going on - perhaps Elias is moving to a more investigative approach, and the Archives are the trial run - which is why they seem to be under so much more stress, and have so much more freedom than all the other employees.

Rosie quite likes Tim, think’s he’s handsome, nice, and cleverly very intelligent. Sure, you may need to put your foot down, draw a line in the sand, to let him know what level of flirting is okay, but he picks up on that easily, and never crosses it. (Of course, sometimes Rosie crosses it herself, and in those cases, Tim only laughs. She’s been married for twelve years, and while she would never dream of cheating on her wife, sometimes it’s nice to know that you ‘still got it’.) 

Since her office is closest to the entrance, she knows all the comings and goings of just about everyone in the Institute. And for the first few months, Tim comes and goes quite frequently, but always makes sure to pop his head in to say hello and goodbye if Rosie isn’t reoccupied.

“Where’re you going all dressed up?” She asks, peering over her laptop screen to see Tim wearing a fashionably oversized bomber jacket over a crisp button-up. 

“Got myself a hot date,” Tim grins. “Gonna take him to that new bougie vegan place-”

“The one that replaced the Mediterranean restaurant?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Rosie hums. “Well, let me know how it is. Talia wants to check it out, but honestly, I don’t want to waste any more money than I have to on under-seasoned tofu and overcooked spinach.”

Tim lets out a laugh, “Oh, will do, Rosie, will do.” 

The next day Tim comes into work and instantly says, “Solid seven out of ten. Not the best, certainly not the worst. I’m not rushing to go back but also not against it.”

Rosie nods and later that day texts her wife to ask if she wants to go. Rosie quite agrees with Tim’s assessment. 

It’s a few days later when Tim pops his head into her office again and says, “Hey, Rosie, can I get a quick favour?”

“Sure, Tim, what do you need?”

“Well, the thing is, I actually have to play hooky, leave a bit earlier, and I’m just wondering, if Elias comes around asking after me, can you cover me? Just say you haven’t seen me leave.”

Rosie nods. “Of course, Tim. Where you headed off to?”

“Got myself a hot date.”

“Wow, did the vegan restaurant really impress him that much?”

“What?” Tim looks confused before he lets out a soft ‘ _ oh’.  _ “No, no. Different hot date. They’re decidedly not vegan, so we’re going to get some Brazillian, maybe pop into a bar, and see where the night takes us.”

“Sounds like a blast. Yes, if Elias asks after you I’ll just say I haven’t seen you leave. Have fun, Tim.”

“I’m sure I will.” Tim leaves with an overdramatic wink that makes Rosie laugh. 

And that’s their little routine. They’re not exactly friends, decidedly just work colleagues, but Rosie likes their little chats, enjoys his jokes, and is always happy to turn a blind eye if he needs to sneak out of the office a little early. 

Some weeks it seems like he has a date lined up for every evening, and sometimes it’s just one or two. She asks him about it once, making sure to not come off as judgy or like a prude.

He just shrugs. “I’m not really looking for commitment right now, and all my partners know that. Sometimes it’s just nice to be someone’s sole focus for a night, but a lot of times I’m going out with people who I’ve, well, who I’ve already slept with. A lot of them are pretty cool, so it’s no hardship.”

Rosie nods. “Ah, I remember those days of youthful lust-”

“Rosie, you’re only forty-five.”

“Exactly. I’m old.”

After the strange fire, and the police, Rosie notices that Tim goes out less. At first, she thinks it’s because of the scare, then possibly because he’s insecure about his new scars. 

(“You know,” Rosie says, over a mug of coffee, looking at Tim’s pinched expression. He always seems like he’s one wrong word away from snapping these days. “You’re still a very handsome man. Many people think that scars are sexy, these days. Besides that you have a lot to offer, you know.”

She glances around conspiratorially, though she knows the break room is empty besides just them. “And, between you and me, you certainly care all that better than  _ Jon  _ does.”

Tim laughs but it’s bitter.)

Tim stops leaving early for dates, and then he stops coming in on time. For a few weeks at a time, he doesn’t even come in at all. He deflects Rosie’s small talk, staring at her with a look of contempt, of anger, of  _ hurt _ .

He snaps and scowls, and Rosie can’t figure out why. She brings it up with Elias but he just tells her it is an Archive business, and to just leave him alone.

“Don’t worry yourself about it,” He says, in the tone of voice that makes her grind her teeth - that patronizing, know-it-all voice. “He’ll be dealt with soon. They’re just in the middle of a project that’s a little, shall we say, delicate.”

So Rosie doesn’t comment on Tim’s dishevelled appearance as the months go by. She doesn’t ask him if he had any “hot dates” as he always called them. Doesn’t make small talk and only waves him hello and goodbye if she catches him looking at her. He never reciprocates. 

When Elias informs her that Tim died, tragically,  _ in the line of duty,  _ she almost feels like she knew it was coming. Talia doesn’t quite understand her sorrow, after hearing nothing but complaints for months, but it weighs heavy on Rosie. The loss of Tim, the loss of the chance that he ever gets to  _ return  _ to being Tim, it’s devastating. 

Talia asks her if she wants to go back to that vegan restaurant. Rosie, decidedly, says no. 

**Author's Note:**

> finished writing this today, posting it today, might change title n stuff later who knows, all i know is that i gotta go play animal crossing   
> catch me @ my tma tumblr sideblog @tim-stonker


End file.
